


Overhead

by GasDancer



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Choking, Heavily inspired by That Scene in Ken Park, I made it senior year so Eddie's 18 lol, M/M, Masturbation, Play Fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 07:36:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GasDancer/pseuds/GasDancer
Summary: A playful incident with Richie leads Eddie to discover a side of him he'd kept hidden.ORRichie regrettably awakens Eddie's choking kink





	Overhead

Eddie is frustrated.

Not that this is a novelty by any means. Eddie spends most of his days frustrated, at his overbearing mother, at the teasing of his friends, and mostly at the world, for being loud and messy and inescapable, setting traps meant to upset his peace at every corner. Most of the dangers he's learned to deal with, ever prepared, but lately it seems like the world, in all its cruelty, has evolved new ways to torment him.

He was with Richie, a common beginning to most of his exasperated stories. Richie never changes no matter how many years pass, the same obnoxious trashmouth he's been since they were children. Eddie used to fantasize, to  _ pray _ that Richie would stop being so utterly insufferable once they got older, that puberty would suddenly cast a maturity spell on him, but it's the end of senior year now, summer making its first tentative appearances into the afternoons, and Richie is still Richie: crass and foul, and impossible to ignore.

He can't even remember how it begins, caught up in some loud, petty argument with him, but he remembers pushing Richie to the side, with barely enough force for it to matter, and then the glint in Richie's eyes; the smile of the shark that's smelled fresh blood.

"Oh what, you're gonna fight, Eddie? Cause I'm pretty sure I could toss your short ass to the ground without lifting a finger." 

Eddie gets riled up good then, always on edge when Richie picks on his  _ perfectly average _ height for an American male his age, thank you very much. He doesn't really think then, and he just charges at him with flailing limbs, maybe hoping the element of surprise will work in his advantage and he'll manage to shut Richie up for good.

It doesn't work, obviously. Things never do for him in these situations.

He's not sure if Richie saw right through him before he even launched, or if he just was quick enough to react, but all the same, Richie manages to pin his arms down with one arm, and a second later he's feeling Richie behind him, his other forearm looped directly around Eddie's throat. 

"You're fucking adorable." Richie laughs in his ear, and there's no real malice to it, no force in the forearm around his neck, but it inflames Eddie just the same. He starts struggling under Richie like the contact is burning his skin.

"Get the fuck off me! Get off, get off, get off-"

But Richie doesn't let up, of course, using more of his weight on to keep Eddie still, and in the ensuing scuffle his arm briefly locks around Eddie's neck like a vice.

Eddie can't breathe.

He wheezes, panicked, and Richie immediately picks up on his distress, senses the shift between play-fighting and harm. In a blink he's off Eddie, scrambling forward to get a good look at his face. "Eddie? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that, are you okay?"

Eddie coughs and gulps in a breath, and once his eyes focus on Richie's worried face, he shoves him backwards with his forearm. "Fuck you!" He sounds breathless and shrill, not nearly as menacing as he'd like, but his heart is pounding madly in his chest, and suddenly his clothes feel way too tight. Before Richie gets to retort, he turns on his heels and rushes towards his house, ignoring the loud calls getting quieter and quieter as he runs off in the distance.

That was hours ago. The sun is setting now, casting everything in a warm orange glow. He's in bed, has been since he ran into the house, red-faced and panting. He's tried to distract himself from it, switched on the crappy TV in his bedroom and forcibly flipped through every channel to find something to occupy his mind, but it failed miserably. He keeps jumping back to that feeling, Richie behind him, breath tingling in his ear, arm gripping tightly around his throat, cutting off his air supply, making him-

Fuck. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ . Fuck Richie and his stupid fucking games. Like he wasn't making him suffer enough already.

He peers at the TV again, determined to clear his thoughts. There's a tennis match going on at present, one of the most boring sports in the history of the planet, and Eddie sits up a little, eager to focus his attention on the set. The ball goes back and forth, and back and forth, bouncing on the brown terrain, and it lulls him into a perfectly safe sense of boredom. That is, until the players start to get tired.

The first time a player heaves a grunt while passing the ball across, he ignores it. His opponent sends it back with a grunt of his own, cracking like gunfire in the otherwise quiet game, and Eddie's fists clench into the sheet next to his legs. It's not his fault. It really isn't. There's no reason for them to be gasping so loudly for fuck's sake, letting out long drawn out moans that make them sound like they're-

He should turn it off. Or change the channel. Realistically, this is the best option. And yet he can't bring himself to grab the remote, not even when another one of those moans shoot straight down his belly, and make him all squirmy and hot.  _ This is fucking insane _ . He gulps, and the movement of his muscles sharply reminds him of the barely-there pain in his throat, right where Richie squeezed.

His right hand shifts tentatively to his crotch, and sure enough, he's almost fully hard.

What he wouldn't do for a day without utter, all-consuming frustration. 

He sits up like he's been shocked, and makes his way to the bathroom on shaky legs, trying to surreptitiously adjust his pants at the same time. He turns the tap on, and scoops copious handfuls of cold water into his face, willing his body to just calm the fuck down and stop betraying him so horribly. He glances up at his reflection in the mirror, blushed from cheek to neck, hair tousled from lying on a pillow too long. His eye shifts to the reflection of the door behind him, cluttered with towels and robes, each one carefully sanitized, with a specific use for each part of the body. His gaze pauses on his mom's mint bathrobe. It's large and fluffy, a matching belt hanging from the loops.

He's left staring at it, motionless. The material seems soft. His mom left for grocery shopping and prescription filling maybe ten minutes ago, meaning she won't be back for another twenty. The cold water has done absolutely nothing to relieve the ache between his legs.

As if he's walking through jelly, he turns back, disentangles the belt from its loops, and returns to his room. 

_ Don't fucking overthink it.  _ He tells himself.  _ Don't do it, or you'll have a panic attack. _

He brings one of the throw pillows from his chair to the bottom of the door, ties the end of the cotton belt around the door, and lets the rest dangle onto the floor. After a moment's deliberation, he reaches for his inhaler, and places it next to the pillow.

He takes a deep breath, lets out an equally big, ever so slightly shaky exhale. The tennis players are still grunting hotly behind him. 

In a swift move, he takes off his pants and underwear, sits down on the pillow, and wraps the belt once around his neck, keeping the end tight in his left hand. His right hand moves towards his straining dick, and after a moment's pause, he wraps his palm fully around it, the smallest sigh escaping his lips. He begins the first tentative strokes, letting players' gasps envelope him, and he feels his other hand fidget with the end of the belt. The feeling of the fabric around his neck sends a shiver coursing down his spine, shooting right into his groin, and he screws his eyes shut.

_ Don't think. _

His hand pulls down incrementally, the belt coiling tight against his neck, and  _ oh fuck- _

His right hand speeds up, precum making his movements slippery and wet, and he closes his eyes, transported. The rope isn't tight enough to be fully suffocating, but it's exactly how Richie did it, how Richie felt behind him in that moment, tall and strong and solid, taking his breath away and making him utterly helpless.  _ He'd wrap his hand around my cock too, _ he thinks hotly, strokes twisting upwards. He'd curl an arm around Eddie's throat until he'd barely be able to gasp in a breath, and he'd jerk him off roughly, demandingly, all the while putting that nasty mouth to use against his ear, telling him how  _ good _ he is being, how good he's gonna make him come.

He feels like he's burning alive, head swimming, legs falling open so he has room to move his hand faster, chasing his release. The sounds from the tennis match mingle with his own now, little gasping moans barely escaping his strained throat. He can feel little bubbles of spit forming around his mouth, unable to swallow properly, and he feels utterly disgusting, but he doesn't stop, not for a second.  _ Richie wouldn't find it disgusting,  _ he muses while his fist passes over his leaking head, faster and faster.  _ He'd lick it right out of my mouth and then kiss me properly, taking my breath away completely. _

He whimpers, and through the haze off his oxygen deprived brain he hears the match again, probably leading to its own climax, the players groaning harshly, brokenly with every pass. He wonders if Richie is loud. Wonders if he'd jerk off right against his lower back while he's pinned him down from behind, moaning desperately in his ear, gasping while he comes "Eddie _ , Eddie, baby- _ "

His whole body arches into his fist as he comes with a choked off whine, spurt after spurt shooting out hard and making a mess all over his thighs and shirt. His left hand releases the belt at the same time, and air rushes into his lungs, making him euphoric, dizzy. He doesn't stop stroking himself for a while longer, climbing down gingerly from his high, and his hand eventually stills where it grasps his softening dick. He slumps back, spent and exhausted, heaving large gulps of air. He scrambles blindly to the left, until his hand connects with the familiar plastic casing, and he lifts the inhaler to his mouth, taking a big hit. His eyes open slowly, and he starts to return to himself as he looks down at the mess he's made: his shirt is all but wrecked, both his thighs are coated with it, and there's a thick white rope still hanging from the tip, gliding slowly down his knuckles. Absurdly, he thinks to lick it off, but he shakes his head, blush returning to his cheeks. Moment over; none of that weird shit now. The sounds are still coming from the TV, but now he just finds them uncomfortable and weird. He scrambles up on shaky legs, and presses the mute button.

Afterwards, he rushes to the bathroom to wash himself and his shirt thoroughly, returns the belt to its rightful place, and bunches up the wet t-shirt, shoving it to the bottom of the laundry basket. Clean and dressed in fresh pyjamas, he falls into bed again, sheets balled tightly in his fists, and he tries to erase the entire day from his memory, tries mightily to ignore the little kink in his throat every time he swallows.

It takes him three days to properly talk to Richie again. Richie doesn't offer another apology, simply calls him a whiny little bitch, and they fall back into their old rhythm. He utterly despises himself every time he catches his eyes wandering to Richie's pale forearms.

Sometimes, he wishes the world would just cut him a fucking break.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't watched Ken Park, just go to minute 53 to get a very explicit unsimulated visual of a 23yo James Ransone acting out this exact scenario.
> 
> (Well, not exact, cause Eddie, but close enough)
> 
> Thanks you for reading! Leave a comment if you enjoyed, this is my first Reddie fic!


End file.
